Every day when we get home from work and school, Kiddo and I take her tricycle out for a ride around the block. She's great about putting on her helmet. Stopping at the corners and looking both ways is still an effort. I still can't believe she's riding. It's like, one day her legs just grew three inches and she could reach the pedals.
She likes to go up around the block because the way home has a steep downhill. "I want to go fast, Mom," she says. She turns the corner and then off she goes, down the hill. She looks back over her shoulder, grinning and laughing."Faster, Mommy, run!" as I struggle to catch the handhold on the back and keep her from careening wildly into the street.
"Watch where you are steering!" I shout. "Be careful!" Running as fast as I can to keep hold, to catch up and protect her as she plunges forward headlong, laughing.
This, I realize, is how I will spend the rest of my life, running as fast as I can, desperately trying to keep her safe, watching her laugh and look back at me as she rushes forward. I hope I can keep up.